


Mine

by tehfanglyfish



Series: Five Times [5]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon Era, Deviates From Canon, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Jealous Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), M/M, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Possessive Arthur, Protective Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:01:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25711045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tehfanglyfish/pseuds/tehfanglyfish
Summary: Five times Arthur said Merlin was his, plus one time Merlin said it back.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Five Times [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1338376
Comments: 49
Kudos: 868





	Mine

**Author's Note:**

> I started this way back in March, but better late than never, right?
> 
> Not so fun obligatory statements: Do not repost my work elsewhere. I do not own this franchise and do not profit from this fic.

1

“You shall be Prince Arthur’s manservant.”

“That means,” Arthur said as his father walked off, “that you’re mine. And I have no intention of letting you forget it.”

Merlin sighed, unsure if a flair for the overdramatic was a trait common to those from Camelot, or royals, or Camelot royals. He didn’t regret saving Arthur’s life, but he was really starting to wish that no one had noticed. The reward the king granted him seemed more like a punishment.

Still, he supposed, it couldn’t hurt to give his new job a try. There was likely some money to be made and, apart from Ealdor, he really had nowhere else to go.

“You there. Boy. Fetch me more wine,” an older nobleman called from an adjacent table.

As Merlin glanced around, looking for a bottle, he felt a tight grip on his wrist, then a hard tug on his arm.

“Mine,” Arthur hissed at the man, before dragging Merlin into an antechamber where extra food for the feast had been set aside.

Still holding to Merlin’s wrist, Arthur pulled out a chair and shoved Merlin in it.

“Eat something, then go to bed. I can’t have you being completely useless tomorrow. And Merlin…”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

Then Arthur disappeared, leaving Merlin even more confused about Camelot’s ruling family.

2

“You’re back!”

Merlin bolted upright, jarred awake by the clamor of metal against the stone floor. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep in Arthur’s bed, but exhaustion had taken its toll. Even with his magic, Merlin had his limits and the previous day had been a grueling gauntlet of chores for Arthur, errands for Gaius, and then a night spent battling the ghost of a king slain two centuries ago, hellbent on possessing Camelot’s current prince to regain the throne. When he’d first saved Arthur’s life three years back, he had no idea it would be a regular occurrence.

“I knew it,” Uther snarled. “Lazy and useless! I suspected Arthur was coddling you, what with his frayed tunics and scuffed boots. But today, you expected him to attend a treaty signing wearing that.”

Uther gestured to the floor where he’d dumped Arthur’s armor, dented and tarnished from the previous day’s ceremonial joust.

Fear flooded Merlin’s body. The run-in with the ghost had kept him occupied until after first light, eating up any time he might have had for polishing. He’d been lucky to arrive with Arthur’s breakfast before the prince had to leave.

“Father,” Arthur called, panting as he ran through the door, “it’s alright. I shouldn’t even be wearing armor at a diplomatic function. It doesn’t show trust or…”

“It shows strength. Which is something you haven’t been doing with your servant. It’s worse than I thought. Look at the state of your chambers.”

Uther had a point. The only reason Arthur’s room wasn’t as cluttered as Merlin’s was because it was three times larger.

“I don’t mind.”

“Well I do. Gaius may be an old friend, but I’m not going to pay for his nephew to laze about all day. I’m sacking him and finding you a…”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

Arthur swallowed hard, not that Merlin faulted him for it. He’d seen many men tremble at court when Uther assumed that eerily restrained tone.

“You’ll not sack him,” Arthur said. His fists clenched but he held Uther’s gaze. “If you don’t want to pay his wages, that’s fine. I’ve got more than enough money in my own accounts.”

“Arthur, he’s…”

“Mine. You said so when you named him _my_ manservant.”

Uther opened his mouth as if to reply but something in the look on Arthur’s face caused him to reconsider.

“Fine. But show up looking slovenly again and I’ll disinherit you.”

He stormed out of Arthur’s chambers, slamming the door behind him.

A moment of silence passed, Merlin unsure of what to say as Arthur stood breathing hard, his face red.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin finally managed. “I didn’t mean to…”

“Shut up, Merlin. I’m going for a ride and I expect all of this cleaned up when I get back.”

“Alright.”

Merlin started to ease himself off the bed.

“I imagine I’ll be gone until at least sunset,” Arthur continued, his voice softer. “Rest a little longer. You look like hell.”

3

The room was burning hot. No. That wasn’t right. It was freezing. Or was it both?

Merlin hurt too much to care. Everything ached – his head, his joints, even his teeth.

He thought he heard voices, low and distant. Were they real or was he imagining them? Merlin tried opening his eyes, but couldn’t, the exertion proving too much.

The voices got closer.

“I’ve tried every remedy at my disposal,” one said. “Only time will tell.”

“That’s not good enough, Gaius,” another replied. “There has to be something else that…”

“Arthur, medicine can only do so much.”

“You cured me. Why is the fever worse for him?”

“I can’t say, sire. You know this new sickness is unpredictable.”

“Are we going to lose him?”

“I hope not.”

Merlin wondered who had fallen ill that left both Gaius and Arthur worried. Maybe it was Uther. He’d been unwell for months and Arthur had largely taken over governing. That had to be it. On more than one occasion, Arthur had confessed his fears about becoming king.

More than anything, Merlin wanted to tell Arthur that it would be alright, remind him again of how brilliantly he’d been doing as regent, reassure him that he was more than ready to take the throne.

The last time he’d done so, he’d gripped Arthur’s hand to drive home the point. There had been a spark between them, he was sure of it. The way Arthur’s eyes had gone wide and his face flushed…

But Merlin couldn’t speak. He was far too tired. He’d have to tell Arthur when he woke up.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” Gaius asked.

“You’re dead on your feet. I’ll keep watch while you sleep.”

That was Arthur, Merlin thought. Kind and caring underneath the metaphorical armor of his public persona. Uther didn’t deserve him as a son.

The sound of footsteps trailed off.

“You’re impossible,” Arthur whispered. “I try so hard to keep you safe and what do you do but get deathly ill taking care of me.”

The chill of the room faded as a blanket was gently tucked under Merlin’s chin. Then careful fingers brushed back his fringe where sweat had left it stuck to his brow.

“You have to get better,” Arthur said. “Do you hear me, Merlin?”

Warm breath ghosted across his ear as Arthur got closer.

“You can’t die. I won’t allow it. Death can’t have you because you’re mine.”

The fever must have been causing him to hallucinate. That was the only explanation, Merlin decided as he drifted off, for the press of lips against his cheek.

4

“No good deed goes unpunished,” Merlin muttered.

“Silence!” Lord Andras bellowed, his sword trained on Merlin’s throat.

Only a few minutes before, Andras had almost been trampled by a spooked ox charging through the castle courtyard. Levitating him in the air wasn’t the most subtle way of saving him, but it got the job done.

Rather than offering a thank-you, Andras backed Merlin against a wall at sword point while bellowing for guards to fetch Arthur.

“I can only imagine the reward the king will bestow on me when I out a sorcerer in his midst,” Andras sneered. “I’m finally getting my manor house.”

For a brief second, Merlin contemplated escape. Even without his magic, he could likely slip away with little resistance. It was no secret at court that Andras lacked skill with a blade, carrying his sword largely for show. His title was all that had enabled him to survive this long.

But running away would suggest he’d done something wrong. This wasn’t how he’d wanted Arthur to find out his secret, but at least now he could stop hiding.

Merlin had had every intention of telling Arthur about his magic after Uther died. It was just that things kept getting in the way. The timing was never right.

Arthur had far too much to think about the day of his coronation. The next couple of weeks, he was caught up adjusting to his new role, and then the months after that were full of diplomatic summits and forming his own policy agenda.

A year and a half later, Merlin knew he really should say something. Camelot hadn’t prosecuted any sorcerers since Arthur had been named regent. From some of the passing remarks Arthur made from time to time, Merlin was almost convinced that Arthur didn’t hate magic. Which meant that there was no reason to keep hiding his secret.

Except for the fact that Merlin had been lying for years. Only two nights ago, Arthur had confessed that there was no one he felt closer to than Merlin. What would happen to that bond when he learned of Merlin’s decade-long deception?

“Sire,” Andras said, as the king approached, flanked by Lancelot and Gwaine, “I’ve caught this sorcerer for you. There’s no telling what he was plotting, but now you’re safe and…”

As he turned to face the king, Andras’s sword slipped, the blade grazing Merlin’s neck. The wound was miniscule – Merlin had done more damage to himself in shaving mishaps – but that didn’t matter.

Before Merlin could flinch, Arthur had drawn his own sword, disarming Andras and forcing him to his knees.

“But sire, that man is…”

“Mine,” Arthur said in a low growl. “If you find that breathing is something you enjoy, you’ll never threaten him again.”

His point made, Arthur sheathed his sword, dragging Merlin behind him up the steps to the castle.

“There, um, might be a few things I need to tell you,” Merlin said as Arthur marched him inside.

“You don’t say. Lancelot filled me in on some key points, but as soon as Gaius has checked you over, you’re going to tell me all of it.”

Merlin knew that tone well enough not to bother arguing. They spent a tense hour in the infirmary, Gaius likely dragging out his examination in an attempt to assess Arthur’s intentions. After what felt like an eternity, he gave Merlin a clean bill of health.

Arthur remained silent as they climbed the stairs to his chambers. Focused more on Arthur’s unreadable face than where he was placing his feet, Merlin tripped, his downward descent stopped only by the strong hand gripping his own.

“Idiot,” Arthur muttered, refusing to let go until they were finally in Arthur’s rooms.

5

“Mine,” Arthur hissed against Merlin’s neck as he thrust into him.

Sprawled underneath him, Merlin groaned as waves of painful pleasure coursed through him. There was the sting of kisses, half-sucked, half-bitten into his skin. The tight grip of Arthur’s fingers digging into his hips, holding him in place. The slam of Arthur’s cock, deep inside, the force of his body jarring and arousing.

This wasn’t the first time they’d done this, nor the first time Arthur had been rough. But there was something different this time, Arthur more frantic than he’d ever been since they started this… whatever it was they now shared.

It began the night after the incident with Andras. They were in Arthur’s chambers, sitting on a rug in front of the hearth. Why Arthur chose that location, Merlin couldn’t say for sure, but it did help ease his nerves as he explained the intricacies of his magic and how he’d used it over the years to keep Arthur safe. It took hours. Not all of the stories had been easy to tell, but Arthur had listened patiently, the whole ordeal going much better than Merlin ever expected.

Finally he finished, relieved to have it all in the open, to no longer have to hide.

Arthur stared at him for a moment, gaze more intense than Merlin could ever recall, expression unreadable. Just when Merlin began to worry that perhaps Arthur wasn’t taking things as well as he’d thought, Arthur had launched himself at Merlin, crashing their lips together in a very rough kiss.

Kissing led to wandering hands and missing clothes and a whole host of activities that Merlin had never really believed Arthur would want to engage in with him. When he awoke the next morning, a little sore but with no regrets, Arthur had given him a soft smile, then turned his attention to the business of the day, acting as though nothing had changed until night fell and he dragged Merlin into bed with him again. If he did it the next night, and the next, and the one after that, well, Merlin had no objections.

It was good – great, actually – all things considered. His magic was in the open, Arthur accepted him, and the sex was amazing.

There were times when Merlin wondered what it meant – there had been plenty of talk regarding what felt good but none of feelings. Not that feelings had ever been Arthur’s strong suit. Merlin knew he should say something, confess his other secret, the one about his heart. But each time before he could get the words out, Arthur had him pressed against a wall or the bed or the floor, kissing him senseless as he stripped off his clothes, almost as if Arthur knew what he was about to say and was stopping him before he could.

And so Merlin took what he could get, relishing the time spent in Arthur’s bed while simultaneously dreading the eventual end, something that seemed sooner rather than later when Princess Mithian arrived at court. Almost a year had passed since that first night in front of the fire. Arthur had been king for almost three. By any measure, it was well past time for Arthur to find a queen. Mithian was eligible, still young enough to bear children, and there were considerable strategic benefits to the match.

In the two weeks she’d been visiting Camelot, not once had Arthur invited Merlin to his bed, instead spending his evenings sequestered away with Mithian. And honestly, Merlin couldn’t blame him. She was beautiful, genuinely nice, and had a surprising sense of humor. Each morning, Arthur claimed they’d been discussing diplomacy. Merlin pretended to believe him, but rejection and jealousy were starting to take their toll.

Of course he had no claim to Arthur. But then, Arthur had no claim to him either. Which meant there was no reason for Merlin not to let one of Mithian’s knights chat him up at dinner or drape an arm around him to lead him out of the dining hall. Arthur was too busy laughing with Mithian to notice him leaving. If he wanted to get off with a strange knight in an abandoned corridor, that was none of Arthur’s business anyway.

They hadn’t moved past kissing when Merlin found himself wrenched from his new lover’s arms, Arthur dragging him down the corridor by the wrist, pulling him into the first unlocked guest chamber he could find.

“Magic a fire in hearth,” he barked as he shoved Merlin belly-down on the bed. “I want to see you.”

Merlin knew he should object, should rage at Arthur for how he’d behaved. They needed to talk, sort things out once and for all. If he said the word, Arthur would stop.

But Arthur had his breeches down and Merlin could hear the familiar sound of the cap popping off the vial of oil. There was the slick glide of Arthur’s fingers, one, then two, inside of him, careful but insistent, thoroughly coating him in oil. Then the fingers were gone, replaced by Arthur’s cock.

“Mine,” Arthur said, plunging into him. Merlin hissed, not quite ready for Arthur’s frantic and desperate thrusts. Tonight there was nothing slow and tender, just a desperate possessiveness as Arthur’s body slammed against his, claiming him over and over again.

By all rights Merlin should have hated it, should’ve hated Arthur for it. Instead, he found himself more aroused than he’d ever been in his entire life. He tried to grind his own cock against the blanket underneath him, but Arthur’s tight grip held him in place.

“Mine,” Arthur repeated, the pace of his hips quickening, thrusts harder before his body stilled. Merlin could feel Arthur’s release spilling inside of him, another reminder that, at least for this moment, he belonged to Arthur.

Then strong arms flipped him over. He craned his head to see Arthur, faced flushed and hair disheveled.

“Mine,” Arthur said, his eyes locked on Merlin’s as he knelt at his feet.

And then Arthur’s mouth was on his cock, swallowing him whole. Never, not once, in the past year had Arthur done such a thing. Merlin let his head fall back against the bed, lost in the wet heat of Arthur’s mouth.

The slide of lips up and down his shaft, the tongue swirling underneath the head, the warm palm cupping his bollocks – Arthur was taking him apart and putting him back together, claiming him again in a very different way, one that gave Merlin as much hope for the future as it did pleasure in the moment.

He peered through half-lidded eyes, watching Arthur work his body. The king. On his knees. For Merlin.

That realization undid him, his body climaxing before he could warn Arthur. Instead of pulling away, Arthur stayed put, refusing to move until Merlin was finished.

Then the mattress dipped as Arthur collapsed beside him.

“I mean it,” he said, eyes shining in the light from the hearth. “I want you to be mine. If you’ll have me.”

“But every night Mithian stays in your chambers…”

“To talk. Her father is aging and she’s as uncertain about taking the throne as I was when I became regent.”

“She stayed so late and you were always laughing. I thought…”

“What? That I was courting her?”

Merlin said nothing, lost in a wave of embarrassed relief.

“And you’re always calling me the dollophead,” Arthur chided. “For the past year I’ve been courting you.”

“Oh.”

“Though I suppose I haven’t done a very good job of it, seeing as to how you didn’t realize.”

“But every time I tried to talk about what we were doing, you wouldn’t let me get a word out.”

“I panicked. You know I’m not the best with feelings. Which is something I need to remedy. I’ll have to change my technique. Completely start over.”

“Well,” Merlin began, his chest tight, “maybe not completely. More flowers would be nice, but there are some bits of it I rather liked. Especially that bit with your tongue tonight.”

He could feel his face burning, knew he was a sweaty mess, but none of that mattered, not when Arthur was showering him in sweet, tender kisses.

+1

Among the many advantages to living with Arthur was the fact that Merlin got to sleep each night in a bed built for an actual king. Having spent his early years sleeping on the floor, Merlin especially appreciated just how comfortable the royal mattress was.

In the five years since he’d moved into their shared chambers, Merlin had never once had a bad night’s sleep, provided he was curled up in their bed with Arthur.

It was on one such night when Merlin was startled awake by Arthur’s body jerking next to him. He sat up, trying to make sense of what had happened.

“Alright?” Merlin was still too groggy to say anything more articulate but somehow managed to magic the bedside candle to life.

Arthur was sitting beside him, eyes wide, arms wrapped around his bent knees.

Without waiting for an answer, Merlin began to rub Arthur’s back. It took a few minutes, but, humming a song his mother sang to him as a small child, Merlin’s efforts paid off. The tense muscles beneath his palm relaxed.

“It was nothing – just a dream,” Arthur finally said.

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Tell me anyway.”

Arthur scowled, but leaned against him.

“I can’t even remember most of it. There was something after me… ghosts. They looked like smoke. They were trying to pull me to the spirit realm. I think my father was there waiting for me, angry at how I’ve ruled. I know it was a dream, but it felt so real. That’s pathetic isn’t it? A king afraid of ghosts.”

“Well, speaking as someone who has fought ghosts, I’d say it’s a sound position to take. Especially if they’re ghosts who work for Uther.”

They sat in silence, Arthur still recovering and Merlin fighting sleep.

“Here, I’m keeping you awake,” Arthur said when Merlin nodded off against him. “You should sleep. I’ll just…”

“Lay down.”

“Merlin, I really don’t think I can sleep after that.”

Instead of replying directly, Merlin began reciting the words to an incantation.

“What was that?” Arthur asked when he finished.

“Wards. I’m too tired to get up and do them properly, but so long as you stay in this bed, you’re safe.”

“You just made that up,” Arthur said but he laid back down.

“Good. Now, come here.”

Merlin pulled Arthur close, so that his head rested on Merlin’s chest.

“Close your eyes. Don’t worry – I won’t blow out the candle.”

There was a tiny bit of grumbling, but Arthur did as he was told.

Merlin lazily ran his fingers through Arthur’s hair while his other hand clasped Arthur’s. He let his thumb trace along the silver band encircling Arthur’s ring finger, the one that was identical to his own.

“What you have to understand,” Merlin whispered, “is that you have nothing to worry about. So long as I’m alive I’ll protect you. Just as I’ve always done. Nothing bad can harm you. I won’t let it. Because you’re mine.”

He lay awake a few minutes longer, listening as Arthur’s breathing slowed, interspersed with the occasional snore. Then Merlin drifted off, Arthur safe in his arms.


End file.
